


The Supreme Art of War

by emmylou (neotericke)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Camp Half-Blood, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neotericke/pseuds/emmylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My fic for the Bellarke Secret Valentine's Exchange, 2015. Camp Half-Blood AU where Bellamy Blake is a badass son of Ares, and Clarke Griffin is a prissy daughter of Athena that he just can't get out of his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Supreme Art of War

The first time Bellamy Blake noticed Clarke Griffin, he didn’t think much of her. Just another prissy child of Athena who thought she knew everything. What was the point in getting to know someone like that? Sure she was pretty, but did that justify that god-awful Athena ego? Athena’s kids were always so _superior_ , like they were freaking royalty or something.

The next time he noticed her, she was practicing archery with a son of Hermes. He could tell by the features- sharp nose, upturned eyebrows, mischievous smile. Bellamy watched the guy (what was his name? Quinn? Finn?) whisper into Clarke’s ear and saw the way that her resulting laugh lit up her face. Then he asked himself why he cared.

The third time he noticed Clarke, she was struggling to heft a shield and sword, facing off against a girl with the same gray eyes as Clarke, but with darker skin and brunette hair. Sisters, most likely. Bellamy had seen Clarke fight before. She was great with a bow, and decent in hand to hand sparring, but she held the sword like it was foreign. He couldn’t help himself.

“Having trouble there, princess?” he teased, twirling his own sword with a flourish. Maybe he was showing off a little.

The blonde huffed, blowing hair out of her face. “If you’re not going to say something useful, don’t say anything at all.”

“Family rule?” he raised an eyebrow. It sounded like something old gray-eyes would say.

“More like I’m extremely busy right now, and I don’t need you wasting my time,” Clarke replied cuttingly, but the remark slid right off Bellamy’s back.

He could understand her annoyance. She was older than the average newcomer. It was only her second summer, and she was already almost eighteen. He had no idea how she’d managed to stay hidden in the “human world” for so long. Maybe it was because she was so pathetic with a sword. Still, it couldn’t have been fun, having kids five years younger than you beat you in a fight.

Bellamy sighed. As a son of Ares, he was almost _obligated_ to lend her a hand. He trudged over to her.

“Okay, how’s this for useful: is that sword even the proper weight for you?”

Clarke shrugged, and from up close, he could see sweat dripping into her eyes and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. So the little brainchild wasn’t afraid of getting dirty. Good.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Bellamy went and fetched a sword that he thought would be right for Clarke, and exchanged it for the one she was holding, setting it gently aside.

“Second thing,” he said, ignoring the look of confusion on Clarke’s face. “You’re holding it wrong.”

Clarke looked at him suspiciously, as if unsure if he was mocking her or actually trying to help. He stepped closer, adjusting her grip on the hilt. The other daughter of Athena was standing aside, watching them with a strange smile on her face. Bellamy couldn’t begin to wonder what her expression meant, so he ignored it and turned back to Clarke.

“Try now,” he said, stepping back.

Clarke’s next move was far more graceful than anything she’d been doing before (still not perfect, but she’d get there), and the grin on her face made it clear that it _felt_ better as well. Bellamy nodded approvingly.

“I thought Athena was the goddess of war?” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t remind me,” she muttered darkly. “I’m great with a gun, you know. Bullseye every time.”

Bellamy shot her a grin. “My sister and I go shooting at a range sometimes. There’s something so gratifying about using shotguns.”

Her face relaxed into a smile, nodding her agreement. “I wish we could use them here, but _apparently_ they’re not Hellenic enough.”

“What about archery? That’s sort of the same idea. Haven’t I seen you at the range before?”

She immediately stiffened, and Bellamy realized he’d touched on a sore spot. Maybe the Hermes kid?

“I’m not really a fan of archery anymore,” she said curtly, and that was that.

“Okay, so clearly, you have no idea what you’re doing with a sword. Was this one teaching you?” he gestured to the brunette.

“ _This one_ has a name,” the girl in question frowned, crossing her arms. “It’s Raven.”

“Okay, was _Raven_ teaching you?”

Raven nodded, then glanced away. “But it looks like you’ve got it handled.”

"You’re leaving?” Clarke turned sharply to her.

“I mean he’s clearly doing a better job teaching you than I was.”

Clarke made an apologetic face. “No, Raven, you were really helpful! Honestly!”

Raven laughed. “Nah, it’s cool. I’m not much of a teacher. But do you mind if I go? I wanted to catch up with Wick anyway. He’s making the-” she cut herself off, glancing at Bellamy, “-that invention of mine,” she finished cryptically.

Clarke looked at Bellamy. “Are you offering to take over?”

“I might as well,” he shrugged.

“No, really. Don’t offer if you don’t want to.”

“Fine, princess,” Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I want to help you learn to use a sword. In fact, I _need_ to. Watching that pathetic performance of yours was just painful.”

“Nice alliteration,” she said dryly, but she looked suspicious. “Why?”

Bellamy shrugged. “Maybe I want to. Maybe fighting with people who suck makes me feel better about myself.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. "There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Seriously, what do you want?”

Bellamy tilted his head thoughtfully. “How about a favor in the future? It couldn’t hurt, having a wise-ass owe you.”

Clarke thought, but common sense won out. She _needed_ to get better with a sword and shield, and Bellamy was already a better teacher than Raven had been.

“Deal,” she said, and turned back to her half-sister. “See you at dinner, then?”

Raven nodded. “Let me know how it goes,” she sing-songed, a cheeky smile on her face.

“This is going to be fun,” Bellamy said, a gleam in his eye. Rather than back down, he saw an answering gleam in her Athena-gray eyes. Okay, this was going to be _really_ fun.

* * *

 

They practiced together every day after that. Clarke still wasn’t great with a sword, but she was able to hold her own in their verbal sparring from the very beginning. He would tease her, and she would reply with a clever remark, and their eyes would soften at each other as their tongues grew sharper. Bellamy didn’t dislike her- it was a strange relationship. The more they fought, the more he looked forward to seeing her.

One day, when he was helping Clarke, a small audience formed. Everyone knew that Ares and Athena were team captains of the capture the flag game at the end of the summer, and people were wondering why Bellamy would help a rival.

Among the crowd was his younger sister, Octavia, who watched the events transpire with a knowing smirk. They were taking a water break when she stepped up. “Let me teach her a few things, bro.”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows at Octavia’s sword, which looked more like a katana than any blade the Greeks would have wielded.

“What do you think you are, a damn samurai?”

“Like it?” Octavia tilted her head with a wicked grin. “Lincoln made it specially for me.”

At Bellamy’s answering grumble, she laughed. "Chill, big bro. I can take care of myself.”

“Still, Hephaestus is tricky. I don’t know if I like you hanging out with his son.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Lincoln has more reason to dislike us than we have to dislike him, what with our dad’s antics with his dad's wife. As it is, he likes me just fine, so don’t ruin it for me, _okay?”_ her voice fell into a growl, making her sound like her father.

Clarke’s eyes widened, but Bellamy just laughed. “Whatever. You were going to teach Clarke?”

Laughing, she hit him lightly with the blunt side of her sword and moved to Clarke’s side.

“My brother has been teaching you some good techniques, but you need to learn how to use your size to your benefit. Let your opponent’s weight work against him and all that. Bellamy’s going to come at me, and I’ll show you a move that you can use against someone bigger than you, okay? Watch me _very_ carefully.”

Clarke nodded solemnly, furrowing her brow in concentration. She was in full-on study mode, something that would have made Bellamy laugh if he wasn’t too busy attacking his sister.

* * *

Bellamy, bored, was walking around camp after dinner when he came across Clarke, sitting alone with her back to a tree. Wordlessly, he joined her. He didn’t know why. It felt like the natural thing to do. At some point over the summer, they’d become more than teacher and student. They were almost friends.

Clarke glanced at him, nodded, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge his presence. She was busy drawing in a sketchbook. He didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t help but see that on a single page there were bits and pieces of countless unfinished sketches. There was Chiron, a satyr or two, and a man wielding a sword. Bellamy did a double take. The man was him. It was an incredible likeness, like looking into a mirror.

“You’ve got skill,” he said dumbly, embarrassed to have seen himself. It was like reading someone’s diary and finding your name there.

Clarke glanced up, shot him a wry smile. “In some places, Athena’s considered the mother of art.”

“Wow. War, wisdom, _and_ art? A true Renaissance goddess,” Bellamy nodded solemnly, earning a laugh from Clarke.

“A blessing for me, since I’m probably a disappointment in the war category,” she said emotionlessly.

"No, you’re not a failure. Pathetic sometimes, but not a true failure. You’re getting better every day!"

She shook her head. "Only because you and Octavia are helping me. What’s the story with her, by the way? You seem closer than any of Ares’s other kids.”

“We’re full siblings. Same father and mother.”

Clarke’s eyes widened, but she remained silent.

"Gonna say that it’s impossible?” he raised an eyebrow.

“No…” Clarke drifted off. “Maybe improbable.”

Bellamy laughed once, a short, barking sound. “Yeah, well Ares liked my mom enough to knock her up a second time before never showing his face again. Lucky us, huh?”

“Bellamy, I don’t know if you should say-”

“Ah, it’s okay,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Dad doesn’t mind impudence as long as we never _truly_ disrespect him, don’t you, Dad?” he asked, addressing the thin air in front of him. He shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like anger and resentment are anything new to him. I think he likes it, honestly.“

Clarke frowned, but couldn’t think of any comforting words.

"What about you then? How’s your home life?”

“Not bad,” she admitted sheepishly, her shoulders raising in embarrassment. Like being happy in spite of his unhappiness was a crime. “My dad married a surgeon shortly after I was born, and I’d never really had a bad relationship with my immortal mom. And my step-mom taught me medicine, which I found I was really interested in.”

“A healer, huh?”

Clarke nodded. “Chiron’s been teaching me how to heal demigod injuries. It’s not so hard. A little bit of nectar and ambrosia and you’re good as new. But you can’t say that first-aid doesn’t come in handy, especially here.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t going to argue that. Have you ever had to treat yourself?”

She shot him a teasing glare. “You should know. Just about every bruise and scrape I’ve gotten this summer came from you.”

“Wow,” Bellamy leaned back, a proud smile on his face. At Clarke’s pout, he laughed and ruffled her hair. “Oh, don’t worry, princess. One day, maybe you’ll injure me, and then you’ll get to have another patient!”

“Don’t patronize me,” she muttered, but leaned into his hand somewhat.

“You know, you don’t have to be a great fighter. You’re already pretty talented in other areas,” Bellamy said before he could stop himself. At Clarke’s surprised glance, he found himself speaking again. “There are better things to be than just physically strong.”

Clarke smiled, looking down at her feet, Bellamy staring stubbornly at the sunset. They sat in silence for some time after that.

* * *

The capture the flag game came faster than Bellamy would have liked. Clarke had continued to improve with a sword, so much so that he knew she was going to cause trouble for his team. He didn’t regret teaching her, though. If Clarke’s newfound skills were the reason for her team’s victory, it would be Bellamy’s victory as well.

Clarke’s eyes met his from across the pavilion. She was smirking, hefting up the gray silk banner. Octavia was holding Ares’s banner, right beside him. For the first time, he wondered if the images on their flag were a bit too grotesque. He almost preferred the subtlety of Athena’s olive tree and owl. Plus, it was alliterative.

Bellamy blinked. He’d never used the word _alliterative_ before. The little princess was getting to him.

He couldn’t help but notice that Athena’s cabin wasn’t allied with Hermes’s, for the first time in a long time. He glanced over to his side, recognized the guy he’d seen before, with long dark hair, gazing longingly at Clarke. Bellamy was almost certain now that his name was Finn. Clarke was very deliberately not looking in his direction.

Standing by Clarke’s side, also very deliberately looking somewhere else was Raven. The pieces started to click together. _Damn_. It took balls to cheat on a girl with her half-sister. Or maybe just typical Hermes recklessness.

The teams armed themselves with the weapons that appeared on the tables in the pavilion. Bellamy saw Raven pick up some sort of metal contraption, sending a wink to one of the sons of Hephaestus who was allied with her team. Probably that invention she’d been talking about earlier.

Bellamy wondered how Octavia felt about her boyfriend being on the opposing team. Not too different from how he felt, probably. He shook his head, as if to shake the thoughts out. He didn’t have time to think about his possible feelings toward Clarke Griffin. There was no room for distractions in a war, and despite the game-like nature of capture the flag, at this camp it was the closest thing they could get to actual battle.

The game commenced with Octavia’s yell, and Bellamy made his way to his post. The Hermes kids had dug some traps along their side of the border before the game had started. It might have been cheating, but when you had the trickster god’s children on your side, you took advantage.

The conch horn sounded throughout the woods. Bellamy took a defensive stance. His job was guarding the border. Octavia had hoped his presence would attract the other team. He was one of their best fighters, so surely he was guarding the banner, right? In truth, a small daughter of Hermes had it, quite a bit to the east of Bellamy. It wasn’t often that the Ares team used such a strategy, so he hoped it would work.

Bellamy paced along the invisible boundary line, careful not to get too close. He’d had relatively little action. A few of his teammates had crossed the border near him, but that was it. Then suddenly, he heard footsteps and heavy breathing. Bellamy spun around and saw Clarke, doubled over with a pained expression on her face. He lifted his sword, but half-heartedly. She looked seriously injured.

When Clarke saw Bellamy, her eyes grew wide, but she hefted her sword in front of her with a shaky hand.

“What the hell happened to _you?”_ he asked her, ignoring the sword.

“I got a little too ambitious,” she panted, her spare arm clutching her abdomen. “Thought I was a better fighter than I was. Got sliced in the gut for my ego.”

Bellamy stumbled forward, a hand outstretched to help her, before he even realized what was happening. “Do you need-?”

She shook her head stubbornly. She lifted her arm slightly, and Bellamy could see the outline of some sort of cloth wrapped around her torso. “I managed to bandage myself up for now. It’s not bleeding that badly,” she lied. He’d seen something that looked distinctly red.

Bellamy was torn. On one hand, she was his enemy. He should capture her, hold her hostage or something. On the other hand, she looked like she could seriously use medical attention beyond what she could do out in the field. Bellamy bit his lip. He knew that this was a battle, that he shouldn’t be soft. But part of him desperately wanted her to be safe. He sighed, looking skyward.

“Get back to your side,” he said gruffly.

Brow furrowed, she didn’t question him. Slowly, Clarke eased around him, keeping her eyes on Bellamy the whole time, as if he’d change his mind. She walked backwards towards the boundary line.

“Wait, not there!” Bellamy yelled, leaping forward, but it was too late. The ground opened up from under her. The only thing keeping Clarke from plummeting to further injury was Bellamy’s hand, holding tight to hers. Her sword clanged at the bottom of the hole, giving him another reason to keep her from falling.

She cried out as his grip jerked her one way, gravity the other, likely opening up her wound even more. Bellamy gritted his teeth as she looked up with him with eyes dulled from pain, wide with surprise and fear. He reached down with another hand, pulling her up as quickly as he could.

Clarke laid on the ground, panting heavily. Bellamy reached over- to do what, he didn’t know yet- and she was back on her feet. She bit her lip.

“How many more of those are there?”

He frowned, surveying the border. “There’s a clear shot to the left of the hole you just fell in.”

“Bellamy,” she said softly. He looked up. There was still a slight grimace on her face, but her eyes were soft, hinting at a smile.

 _“Thank_ you,” she said intently.

Bellamy waved her away. “Just get out of here before I get caught fraternizing with the enemy.”

Clarke eyed the path, sharp gray eyes taking in the places that had just a _few_ too many leaves scattered about, and nodded. She shot a quick smile in his direction, before sprinting for her side. Bellamy gaped at her, dumbfounded. What had happened to her injury?

He leapt to his feet, but it was too late. She was back in friendly territory, her teammates emerging from the trees with laughter and cheers. Raven lifted her up in a hug, spinning her around.

Bellamy continued to stare at Clarke from his side, jaw dropped. She smirked at him, raising the hem of her shirt slowly, teasingly… revealing the Ares flag tied around her waist.

“Just because I can’t use a sword doesn’t mean I don’t excel at military strategy,” she called back towards him, beaming.

Bellamy just shook his head in awe. He couldn’t even be mad. “Cold, princess. Stone cold.”

She left the banner, now shimmery gray, in her half-sister’s hands before approaching him again.

“Not my fault you have a weakness for me, Blake.”

“Just for that, I’m going to think up a really terrible favor for you.”

Clarke laughed, gray eyes sparkling. “Do your worst.”

“Okay,” Bellamy smirked, stepping closer to her. “Here it is: stand still and close your eyes.”

She shot him a look, but at the look in his eyes, complied. The rest of her team, and his, which had arrived in the meantime, watched him stand toe-to-toe with her. He leaned closer and, as if sensing his presence, she lifted her face to him.

Bellamy leaned closer, his breath tickling Clarke’s neck. She shivered slightly in anticipation. He didn’t move. Bellamy watched her reaction, watched her eyelashes flutter and her face move closer.

He leaned his head as close as he could manage, then, stifling laughter, whispered in her ear, “Hoping for a kiss, princess?”

Her eyes shot open as he jumped back with a grin. She glared darkly at him, and he was struck by the image, imagining the same expression on her mother’s face and almost gulping nervously.

“Who’s weak for who now?” he laughed defiantly, running deeper into his team’s territory.

“Bellamy Blake, I will _kill_ you!” she yelled, giving chase. “And it’s who’s weak for _whom_ , you damn jock!”

Bellamy didn’t even have to run slowly on purpose. Clarke managed to catch up with him with a tackle that would have made any lineman proud. They fell to the forest floor, limbs intertwined.

“It’s who’s weak for _whom_ -“ Clarke repeated, insistently.

Bellamy cut her off by pressing his lips against hers. He expected her to fight back, but the next thing he knew, her fingers were curling into his hair.

“That’s what I thought,” he pulled away with a smirk.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and proceeded to shut him up herself, quite effectively.


End file.
